


Emancipation

by gingersnapsandbubblewrap



Series: Emancipation [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cheating, F/F, Including..., Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Toxic Relationship, Unrequited Crush, also Overwatch's official timeline is a disaster, but it's mostly canon-compliant, in which angela has many kinds of relationships over the years, in which angela is a gay disaster, minor age gaps but nothing gross, one-night stand
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-11-17 21:43:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18107042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingersnapsandbubblewrap/pseuds/gingersnapsandbubblewrap
Summary: Angela Ziegler has experienced many kinds of love over the years.Childish crushes. Turbulent, whirlwind heartbreaks. Messy affairs where no one is in the right. Tipsy one-night stands. Every one of them has left her empty and alone.Sometimes what you really need can be closer than you think.





	1. Formation

Angela’s mind raced. Her collar was too constricting, but she didn’t dare loosen it. Her blazer sat too tight across her shoulders and her hair kept falling out of the roughly seventy thousand bobby pins holding her bun together. She couldn’t stop fiddling with the flash drive, the one with her presentation, the backup presentation, the alternative backup presentation, the shortened and condensed presentation, the presentation focusing specifically on biology, and the presentation that started focused mainly on nanotechnology but descended into a disjointed powerpoint on the increasingly militant world culture and the expansion of the military-industrial complex into a highly profitable business and how some branches of Overwatch were only serving to accelerate the issue-- suffice it to say that Angela anxiously downing beers halfway into making her presentation didn’t yield the best results. 

She overprepared, she knew. And yet, she had barely finished with her PhD, had almost no job experience outside a part-time internship, and didn’t even know  _ what  _ field she wanted to specialize in yet-- sure, she knew she wanted to  _ help  _ people, but there were so many ways to do that-- nanobiotics, microbial designing, genetic enhancement...Angela was certain she shouldn’t be here, waiting for an interview with some of the most prominent scientific and military minds of her time. 

“Ziegler?” Angela turned quick enough to give herself whiplash. 

“That’s me!” she said, too loudly. 

“Yes, ah…” The secretary flipped through a clipboard and frowned. “Follow me, you’ll be in room 118.”

Angela followed him through wide halls to room 118. “Go ahead and take a seat. The captain will be with you in just a little while.” Angela nodded and entered, sitting at the chair opposite the sparsely-decorated desk. The chair was comfortable, and so was the room, despite the initially utilitarian look to it. An old recruitment poster from the very earliest days of the Omnic Crisis had been framed and hung on one wall-- Jack Morrison’s impeccable smile gleamed out from behind the pane of glass, a literal poster boy. The holoscreen on the wall behind the desk remained still, the only indication it was even functional a lone overwatch insignia at the center. The mug on the desk had “World’s Okayest Mom” printed on the white ceramic, and had been repurposed to hold pens and two small flags-- one Egyptian, one Overwatch. 

Besides the mug, the desk sported a framed picture of a tall, raven-haired woman with a tattoo under her left eye wearing a beret and military armor. In her left arm she cradled a long sniper rife-- the other, paradoxically, was holding a girl of maybe eleven or twelve close to her. The girl was grinning proudly, a half-pint clone of her mother with golden beads in her hair. 

Down the hall, Angela noticed a commotion growing louder and louder.

“You’re making a mistake.”

“Was it a mistake when you did it?”

“Fareeha--”

“What is the saying? ‘Do as I say, not as I do’? I thought you would be honored to--”

“To what,  _ habibti? _ See you dead before twenty-five?” 

“Mother.”

“I can’t do this now, Fareeha.”

“You  _ always say that! _ If not now, when?” 

“Fareeha--” 

The first voice went quiet, and Angela couldn’t make out what was being said for a few moments.

“Fine,” the second voice said. “Fine, you know what, you can disapprove all you want, my mind is made up.” 

“Fareeha-- ah.” A frustrated groan, a set of feet briskly walking away, and the door opened.

“Hello, Ms.-- sorry,  _ Dr.  _ Ziegler, is it?”

Angela was struck completely mute. It wasn’t just the anxiety that had been building the last few days, or the awkwardness of having overheard what she knew was a deeply personal argument. Captain Amari was a head taller than Angela in combat boots and let her dark hair hang freely down her back. She had a warm yet calculated stare that pierced Angela down to her very soul and made her shiver underneath it. 

_ Mein gott,  _ Angela thought, and then her brain suddenly stopped functioning. 

“So sorry about the wait,” the captain said. “I’m Captain Ana Amari. I’ve been over your work, and I must say, Dr. Zeigler, you can color me impressed.”

“Yes,” Angela said. “I mean, thank you.” Angela rose too quickly from the chair and knocked it over. “ _ Gott,  _ I’m sorry-- one moment--” she felt a rush of heat to her face and stooped to stand it upright. 

“No need, no need,” Captain Amari laughed, offering a hand to help her up. Angela took her hand; it was warm, and rough, and sent an electric buzz down Angela’s spine.

Angela hoped her face only  _ felt  _ like a boiled tomato. The timing of this sudden rush of hormones and evolutionary breeding instinct was both unfortunate and unprecedented to Angela; up until now, her entire existence had been to single-mindedly bury herself in her studies, with no time for anything that could distract her or tie her down. She was, of course, familiar with the feeling in the abstract-- usually some alone time in between studying and sleeping was sufficient to “take care” of such biological nuisances-- but never attached to anyone so specific. Angela used to privately mock her classmates for their lover’s tiffs and the drama of their unrequited loves. Maybe this was simply karmic retribution. 

The interview rushed by in a haze. Angela went through the questions on autopilot, more focused on the way the Captain’s mouth moved or how her hands folded themselves atop the desk than the specifics of bioelectrodes or nanotissue repairs. Angela was genuinely surprised when Ana leaned back in her chair and smiled. 

“Well. I think I can safely say that we would love to have you aboard our medical research and field team, Dr. Ziegler,” Ana said. 

“Really?” Angela said. “Are you serious? Just like that?” 

“I am, technically, the boss around here,” Captain Amari said amusedly. “You’re more than qualified-- especially for your age. I have high hopes for you, Dr. Ziegler-- Angela.” 

Angela felt like she could melt. “Thank you, Captain.”

The next months were something teetering on the edge of heaven and threatening to tip straight into hell. The research facility was more advanced than anything Angela had ever seen, and her colleagues intimidating beyond belief. She felt constantly torn, both invigorated by the possibilities open to her and terrified that she’d fail miserably in the eyes of her peers and betters. Better yet-- or worse still-- were Captain Amari’s frequent visits to the research wing of the med centre. What Angela had hoped was nothing but fleeting awe had festered and bloomed into a full-fledged crush (god help her). Every time the Captain entered a room, Angela turned into a lovesick puppy, eager to show her the latest bit of research, hanging on to every word, melting at every encouraging pat on the shoulder. 

The worst part was that Angela seemed incapable of subtlety. It was obvious to everyone in the research wing that Dr. Zeigler was hot for boss. The teasing alone was enough to make Angela want to dip her head in sulfuric acid. And yet, every damn time Ana dropped by, she couldn’t help making a complete and total fool of herself. 

“Here comes the captain,” Dr. Liu would say. 

“Hide the glassware,” Dr. Winston joked, flashing Angela a knowing smile. 

“Hush,” Angela said, before catching sight of the captain and promptly dropping an entire stack of lab reports. 

Angela found herself staying long nights up at the lab, not out of any desperate chance at talking with her boss (or so she told herself), but getting genuinely fascinated with the work they’d been doing, especially when it came to nanobiology. Every night around ten o'clock she would swear to herself up and down that she would just finish up her studies and go straight home, and every night she would wake up in a puddle of drool on the lab table before dragging herself reluctantly to the on-site barracks for some real sleep. Despite her fascination with the work, however, she did find her mind more prone to wandering when she found herself alone at night in the lab. In her more unguarded, childish moments, she would find herself thinking of Captain Amari stopping by, chastising her for staying to work so late. In her daydreams, Angela was suaver, chastising the Captain right back for staying on duty so late herself. They would banter back and forth, eventually bonding over a cup of terrible faculty lounge coffee, and then…

Angela’s daydreams ended differently each time; sometimes it lurched to a halt as Angela mentally berated herself for suffering such embarrassing thoughts. Sometimes it ended with the Captain smiling warmly at her, in a way that she never had, that told her they were respected equals and that the distance in their ages and ranks couldn’t matter less to her. 

And sometimes, the daydream continued as Captain Amari traced the side of Angela’s face with her fingertips, leaning in and closing her eyes softly--

 

Angela woke suddenly, face pressed against the cold lab table, shaken awake by someone. She was sure she’d been dreaming of-- something. 

“Hey.” Angela started. Captain Amari was standing over her-- no, not the Captain-- Angela rubbed the sleep from her eyes and found the face in front of her was too young, unmarked by any tattoo or wrinkles around her eyes, and she wore a pair of jeans and hoodie in place of fatigues, but the resemblance was truly uncanny.

“Hello,” Angela said, still unsure if she was dreaming. 

“Ah,” not-Ana said. “You have a little--” she gestured to her mouth. Angela touched a hand to her mouth and started with embarrassment as she wiped a trickle of drool off her chin. 

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen my mother,” the teenager said. Something clicked in Angela’s head. 

“Oh! You’re Fareeha, then.”

“That’s me.” Fareeha seemed less than thrilled at being recognized. 

“Your mother has said a lot about you,” Angela said. “You’re set to graduate soon, yes? She told us you were looking into--”

“Civil service?” 

“Yes! It’s admirable of you to--”

“I’m not interested in that at all,” Fareeha said bluntly. 

“O-oh,” Angela said. There was an awkward pause. Angela stood hastily, finding Fareeha to be absurdly tall, almost as tall as her mother, and stuck out her hand. “Dr. Angela Zeigler. You can call me Angela,” she said. 

Fareeha took her hand and shook it firmly. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said. She seemed rather stiff for-- what, seventeen? Eighteen? The way she spoke so formally, stood so straight. Angela wondered if she got that from her father or mother. “I just wanted to find my mother to--” she paused. “--Well, it’s important. Especially since the transfer.” 

“Oh, are you changing schools?” Angela asked. Fareeha looked at her strangely. 

“No, mother is going to be stationed at Gibraltar soon.” Angela’s heart dropped. “...She didn’t tell you?”

“No, she didn’t,” Angela said. “Gibraltar.  _ Heiterefahne _ .” 

“I’m sorry,” Fareeha said, a little awkwardly. They sat in silence for a moment as Fareeha gave her a second to process this. Gibraltar. A five-hour flight and a lifetime away.  

“When is it?” Angela asked. 

“About a weeks’ time,” Fareeha said. “If she didn’t tell anyone, don’t go spreading the word. She probably has her reasons.” 

Angela was quiet. “So, why is it so important you see her at--” Angela checked her watch-- “Two in the morning?” 

“I’m-- well, it’s--” Fareeha looked guilty all of a sudden, bravado all run dry. “I’ve signed on to join the military after I graduate.” Angela waited for more, but none came.

“ _ Und?  _ That cannot possibly be all.” 

Fareeha shrugged. “She has made it very clear she doesn’t want me anywhere near Overwatch. I disagree.” Fareeha snorted. “You know, my entire life I looked up to her. She was always a role model to me. She devoted her life to helping people, to defending her country, protecting the innocent. Why she wouldn’t want me to follow her is...I don’t know what it is.” 

“She’s probably just worried,” Mercy said.

“I know she is. But I’m my own person who can make my own decisions, and I’ve had my mind made up since I was six years old and she refuses to respect what I have to say about my own life.”

“I suppose I can’t say anything,” Angela said. “My parents were doctors, too.” 

“Did they support you in that?” Fareeha asked.

“I would have liked to think they would,” Angela said. “They died when I was very young.”

Fareeha’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She was much easier to read than the Captain. There was something so unabashedly earnest and open about her. Angela knew it wasn’t her place to say, but the thought of Fareeha-- practically a  _ child  _ still-- learning to fight and kill almost broke her heart. 

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell you where she might be,” Angela said. “But-- good luck to you.”

“And you,” Fareeha said, smiling. She turned to leave. “Oh, and Dr. Zeigler?”

“Angela,” Angela insisted. 

“Please go get some rest soon,” Fareeha said. 

The sound of the door closing behind her echoed in the empty lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you could drop a kudos or leave a comment, every little thing is appreciated :)   
> Next time, Damnation: Part 1.


	2. Damnation, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercy falls in love and falls apart.

**Chapter 2: Damnation (part one)**

 

It didn’t take long for Angela to rise to a position of relative prestige in her field, once she narrowed her focus to just one area of expertise. She was even granted her own lab and a private office as her superiors began to take notice of her results. She had a small team of lab assistants, of course, and her colleagues were always available to lend a hand or help research, but more and more as Angela felt herself delve deeper and deeper into her work she found her nights stretching longer and her days shorter. The most she saw of her colleagues was when she passed them on her way out of the lab-- both parties exhausted, they freshly showered and coffee in hand, she rumpled and smelling of nanofluid and vending-machine crisps. Her lab assistants became ghosts: she wrote a laundry list of tasks to carry out every morning, taped it to the incubator, and every night when she returned the test tubes sat clean on the drying rack, the tissue samples safely stored and the day’s progress logged, the centrifuge disinfected and quietly humming to itself in the corner. 

Angela had never been fantastic at taking care of herself when it came to throwing herself into her projects, and now that she felt she was on the very verge of a major breakthrough, her own well-being fell further and further down her list of priorities, and she was beginning to feel the consequences. Her head hurt.  Her muscles ached for no reason. 

She was either so exhausted or so frantic she couldn’t read her own writing for the speed her shaking hands wrote. At one point, a lab assistant that stayed at work late enough for her to encounter them gifted her a chef salad, and halfway through it Angela realized it was the first vegetable she’d consumed in over two weeks. It would all be worth it, Angela thought, once she made that big breakthrough. Once that happened, she could sleep. She could feel it in her bones, like a word on the tip of your tongue, ready to burst forth at any moment. But it never seemed to come. 

It was on a night like this that she first encountered Moira. She was taking a break to get a cup of coffee from the lounge down the hall when she heard something shatter, followed by a muffled curse. Angela’s blood ran cold. She knew full well that the only people in the building at this hour should be her and the night watchman, and the voice was several octaves higher than Phillipe’s blunt baritone. She turned; there-- a dim light shone from underneath another laboratory door. 

Angela placed a hand on the door. She was shaking, half from exhaustion, half from fear, and pushed it gently ajar. The hinges, mercifully, did not squeak as she slunk into the lab. Someone  _ was  _ here; their back was to Angela, but she was certain it was no one she’d seen before. They were tall, around six foot, with short red hair. They had some sort of strange device strapped to their back, fitted with thick tubing that twisted around to connect to their arms. A spy? A Talon operative pilfering information from Overwatch? Angela stepped closer, lifted her arms, and swung wildly towards their head. 

They turned with incredible speed and caught her arms before Angela could make contact and shoved her back. Angela toppled to the floor. A pair of black dress shoes stepped towards her. Angela looked up to see a pair of eyes, one blue, one brown, staring down at her. 

“Stay back,” Angela said. Her voice sounded small. 

“Or what?” They placed a foot on the makeshift weapon Angela had brought in. “You’ll  _ extinguish  _ me?” Angela blushed at the red canister, the only makeshift weapon she could find in a hurry. “Hold on, you’re a researcher here,” they said suddenly, apparently noticing Angela’s name tag and lab coat. “My apologies for the confusion. Dr. O’Deorain,” and they--she, Angela realized now-- pulled a badge from inside her shirt to flash at Angela.

Angela felt her face heat. Of course. That made much more sense. Dr. O’Deorain offered a hand to Angela and she took it, standing shakily. 

“O-of course,” Angela said. “I apologize for the confusion.” 

“Not at all,” Dr. O’Deorain didn’t let go of her hand, instead leaning close. Angela fought the urge to step away before realizing she was simply examining her badge. “...Dr. Angela Zeigler. Ah, so you are the mysterious Zeigler. I was wondering when we would meet one another.” She smiled. 

“I tend to be a bit of a night owl,” Angela confessed. “I had no idea another researcher had moved in.” 

“Only barely,” the doctor said, casting around at the boxes littering her lab. “I tend to be a bit of a night owl myself. I suppose we’ll be seeing more of each other, then.” 

“The device you have on,” Angela said. “What is it?” 

“Oh, this?” O’Deorain looked embarrassed suddenly. “Ah. A prototype. Leave it to me to start fussing around with this and that before I even get unpacked.” She slipped out of the straps connecting it to her back and set it on one of the tables. “I’ve an interest in developing field prototypes. It’s still a work in progress.” 

“How does it work?” Angela asked, craning her neck to look over O’Deorain’s shoulder. 

“The short version? Biofluid sprayed in a fine mist to heal combatants.” 

“...What’s the long version?” Angela asked hesitantly, intrigued. Moira turned to her and smiled. 

Moira didn’t seem to mind when Angela turned up in her lab to discuss biofluid density versus aerosolization the next night. In turn, Angela found herself not minding at all when Moira started showing up more and more in her lab to help tinker around with other projects. It was startling, really, how much she didn’t mind Moira. It wasn’t just that Angela had forgotten how comforting a little human company was. Angela found herself drawn to the older woman, her strange tics and mannerisms. The way she ran her fingers through her hair when she was close to a solution, the way the corner of her mouth quirked upwards as if it had it had a mind of its own when Angela made a joke. The way she could feel her eyes on her when she turned away, watching her leave with that strikingly magnetic gaze. Angela found her not minding Moira in ways that she would have were she someone, anyone else. Not when she kept Angela from important work with their discussions, or inserted her own ideas into Angela’s work, or teased her about this or that. Angela caught herself realizing how long it had been since she’d connected with someone like this, actually been so in tune with another human that they could complete each other’s sentences. 

“I like my job,” Angela said one evening over coffee. “Don’t get me wrong. I just…” she hesitated.

“Just what?” Moira asked. 

“I feel so cut off from the rest of the world in here. Sure, I’m doing good work in here, but shouldn’t I be out there,  _ using _ it?”

“I know the feeling,” Moira said, swirling the coffee in her mug reflectively. 

“Why restrict ourselves by staying cooped up? I want to get  _ out  _ there sometimes. It makes me restless.”

“I admire that restlessness,” Moira said. “You’re driven. It’s not enough for you to just punch in and do a day’s work. You want  _ results _ .” She gave Angela a sidelong glance. “It’s...refreshing.” 

Angela flushed. “Well, how am I supposed to be satisfied with the research I’m doing if I never actually see the results?” She sighed deeply and shook her head. “Most days I try to bury myself in more work, try not to think about it. But the feeling remains, I suppose.” 

“And?” Moira said. 

“And? And what?” 

“Are you going to sit here moaning on, or are you going to do something about it?” Moira was staring intensely at Angela now, a strange energy pulsing in the air between them. “If you want something, go and get it.” 

_ If I want something _ , Angela repeated in her head. Moira’s mismatched eyes bore into her. 

“What  _ do _ you want, Angela?” Moira said. Her name on Moira’s mouth was like a whisper. 

Angela’s eyes flicked down towards Moira’s mouth for just a second before closing the gap between them. The moment hung in the air-- it could have been seconds or minutes and Angela could not have been able to tell. After an eternity, Angela pulled away. 

“...Was that...all right?” Angela asked. 

Moira chuckled low in her throat. “More than all right.” Her long fingers traced their way down Angela’s jawline, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear delicately before leaning in and kissing her harder, more insistently. Mercy felt a pulling need at the center of her chest and, for the first time probably ever, let it overflow like a bursting dam. 

In the middle of the night, in the dim glow from the idling monitors in Dr. Moira O’Deorain’s cluttered lab, Angela lost herself bit by bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, Damnation: Part 2.  
> Thank you for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! Thanks so much for reading! Comments are highly appreciated, if you have time to drop one. Hopefully the next chapter will be up soon. Cheers!


End file.
